


For the Next Tony Stark (I'm Here For You)

by blondsak



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak
Summary: If Peter had enough breath to gasp, he would have. As it is, the sound ofthatvoice, saying “hey underoos” withthatspecific inflection - affectionate with just a tinge of worry - is enough to stop his panic attack in its tracks.“T-tony?”// Or: even dead, Tony Stark left behind more than one way to be Peter's hero.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 81
Kudos: 335
Collections: Irondad Fic Exchange 2019





	For the Next Tony Stark (I'm Here For You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedableik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedableik/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Для следующего Тони Старка(Я здесь для тебя).](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23410795) by [bucky_lol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucky_lol/pseuds/bucky_lol)



> This goes out to hedableik as part of the 2019 Irondad Fic Exchange. Out of your three prompts I went with, “Peter finds out EDITH isn’t the only thing Tony left for him.” I hope you enjoy your gift <3

The first thing Peter registers upon waking is pain.

Consciousness is slow to come but even as it does, he finds his mind already categorizing possible injuries - an instinct after so many superhero-related dust-ups over the last few years. 

His legs, his hips, his chest-- everything from the neck down except his right arm feels like it’s being squeezed under a giant waffle iron.

He opens his eyes but everything remains just as dark as before. He must be in a deep, lightless space for his eyes not to be able to adjust-- usually even the slightest bit of light is enough for him to make sense of his surroundings.

He groans, trying to shift his body - to get away from the pain - only to realize that there is nowhere to go. 

Where was he? What had--

It all comes flooding back at once: Peter had been fighting the Green Goblin without back-up. Sam and Bucky were still minutes out when the villain had thrown a bomb into a bank and Peter had swooped in, rushing civilians out right before everything exploded in a cacophony of bright white light and then-- 

Then nothing. Until the pain.

“H’llo?” he softly asked, only for coughs to wrack him. “Is--is anyone here?”

“I am here, Peter,” E.D.I.T.H. suddenly chirped in his ear. 

“Hey, E,” he croaks out. “What happened?”

“You were caught in an explosion caused by one of the Green Goblin’s pumpkin bombs, and are currently buried underneath approximately forty tons of rubble. I have sent out a crisis report to both Master Sergeant Wilson and Sergeant Barnes but at present there is no signal and I am unable to find a workaround. I will continue to send until the connection is stabilized.”

Peter coughs again. “Did-- did everyone make it out okay?”

There’s a pause.

“I am detecting no other heat signatures in the immediate area.”

Peter nods to himself. He may be trapped, but at least everyone else is safe. Or so he hopes-- Gobby clearly had no issues with targeting innocent bystanders. 

“Can I...” Peter trails off, trying and failing to take a deep breath with the pressure on his chest. “Can I try to move it, E?”

“I would not recommend destabilizing the debris, Peter. Your current position is maintaining your air pocket. If you do not move it is probable help will eventually come to you.”

“Okay, okay, yeah, okay,” Peter says, even as his spidey sense sends a warning ping at the idea of doing absolutely nothing to free himself. God, he wishes he wasn’t alone… if he wasn’t alone this wouldn’t be so bad. Even if he could talk to someone, someone like May or Happy or Sam or T---

But no, he’s alone. Just like when he took down Beck, he has to get through this on his own. He’s Spider-Man, he can do this, at least for a while… but what if he’s stuck here for longer than a while?

With a small voice he asks, “For how long?”

“I’m afraid I cannot make that determination with the presently available information, Peter.”

Fuck. So he’s stuck here for as long as it takes. And if Sam and Bucky don’t even know that he’s trapped… 

“Shit,” Peter blurts. And is it just him, or is it getting harder to breathe?

“Okay, okay, just calm down, Parker,” he self-soothes. “You’re going to be just fine, everything is _fine_ … just trapped under tens of thousands of pounds of concrete with no way to get out and no idea when help will arrive but really, everything is great…”

He tries to take another deep breath but the air isn’t coming, his lungs aren’t inflating, and when did his heart start trying to sprint out of his chest?

“Keep it together, Spider-Man,” he tries again and god, it’s not just his imagination, it’s definitely getting harder to breathe--

“Stop freaking out. You’re _fine._ ”

But no, he’s not fine, not when his spidey sense is flaring up like fireworks on the fourth of July, bombarding him with _danger, danger, danger!_ And worse, Peter can’t tell if the threat is real or not, if it’s external or just in his head, and even if it is real, he’s useless, trapped, and suffocating slowly--

“Stop, just stop, stop!”

But the panic isn’t stopping, and Peter needs to get out, the danger is here, all around him and he needs to get _out_ \--

“Help! Someone help me!” he screams, staccato breaths escaping him as he listens for a reply.

But there’s no answer, just the groaning sounds of the occasional rebar falling, the dribbling water of a burst pipe barely discernible beyond.

Something above him lurches and Peter feels the weight grow across where the rubble is resting on his hips and legs. Peter can’t help it, he starts to wiggle a bit, needing to get away before he’s crushed but the small movement is offers no relief, and god if he doesn’t get out he’s going to _die_ \--

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” he says, then, trying to lift himself up, air pocket be damned adds, “E, I gotta move, I can’t stay here--”

“That course of action is inadvisable, Peter. The debris is still--”

“Help! Help me!” he screams as the panic overtakes him again. Though he’s still completely blind in the blackness, he can see dots in his vision now, his brain not getting enough oxygen because he can’t fuckin’ _breathe_ and god, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die like this, and he needs someone, he needs to not be alone anymore, he needs--

“I need Tony,” he whispers miserably, a sob bubbling out at the end, cracking his dead mentor’s name right down the middle.

“Initiating AI-743, codename E.D.M.U.N.D,” E.D.I.T.H. suddenly announces, voice dull and emotionless.

“E?” Peter asks, still trying to make sense of what she said, but there’s no answer. “E? Don’t leave me!”

“Hey, underoos.”

If Peter had enough breath to gasp, he would have. As it is, the sound of _that_ voice, saying “hey underoos” with _that_ specific inflection - a husky, affectionate tone with just a tinge of worry - is enough to stop his panic attack in its tracks.

Before he can reply, the voice goes on.

“Just caught myself up on the last ten minutes or so kiddo, and I know it sucks, but E.D.I.T.H. isn’t lying-- you really do need to hang tight until the cavalry comes.”

Peter opens his mouth, only to close it again like a fish.

“T-tony?”

A pause. “Not exactly, Pete. I’m Ed - full name E.D.M.U.N.D. - and I’m an AI created by Tony Stark to mimic his voice, personality, and responses using F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s extensive archival footage. I was designed specifically for you, for situations just like this.”

“Like this?”

“When you’re in a real pickle and asking for Tony,” the AI responds as if the answer is simple and obvious.

No matter how Peter tries to wrap his mind around what the voice is saying - that he’s just an AI named Ed, and not Tony - all he can think is that he hasn’t spoken to his mentor in over a year. 

Hasn’t spoken to him since Tony gave Peter their first and last real hug and looked at him with pure, blinding love in his eyes only to die minutes later-- body giving out on him as the familiar glow over his heart had stuttered once, twice, and then never again. 

Peter never thought he’d get to talk to Tony again, after that. The man wasn’t coming back, not like Peter did.

But now, with this AI, it’s like Tony is _back_. Like the very thing Peter has wished for a million times since the day his mentor died - just another chance to speak to the man - has come true.

The fact that Peter can’t see a damn thing only heightens the illusion that Tony is really there, and the very thought of letting himself sink into it causes the emotions churning in his gut to rise up into his throat, a giant lump of harrowing grief and relieved joy.

Tony is dead, Peter knows that. But he is also here with Peter again, in the dark, because Peter had truly needed him, even more than he maybe did fighting Beck. Tony may be gone but he had made sure Peter wouldn’t be without him entirely if things got bad enough-- that Peter wouldn’t be alone.

He was still protecting Peter, even in death.

A sob breaks past the last of his meager defenses, and he chokes on it, trying to wrestle it back in but it’s too late. Like a dam bursting, a second sob breaks through, then another and another and--

“Oh, kiddo,” the AI says softly. “Y’know, I’m really not certain Tony thought this through, to be honest. I think this might be too much for you right now. I can shut myself off and E.D.I.T.H. can take over, just--

“No!” Peter pleads, then taking a few half breaths adds more calmly,“No, please, don’t go. I-- it’s okay, I swear. I was just surprised.”

Ed sighs softly in response, and it sounds so much like home to Peter he has to swallow down another sob.

“I bet you were, Pete. And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe, not unless you want me to. Got it?”

Peter nods as much as he can.

“I can’t see you, kiddo. Gonna have to use your words.”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says. “Yeah, I got it.”

There’s a pause, before the AI continues. “So we both know that I know everything your suit does, but humor me anyway-- what’s the 411?”

Oh, that’s right-- Peter’s trapped. In his shock, he’d nearly forgotten.

“I’m stuck. Can’t move or I’ll risk disrupting the debris over me, but I also can’t take in a full breath and the pressure on my hips and legs shifted and everything is sore and in pain and--”

“And so you freaked out a little bit, huh?”

Peter gives a nostalgic smile at the phrasing. “Yeah, I freaked out a little bit.”

“Totally understandable, underoos. Happens to the best of us.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Panic attacks? Not to Tony.”

“You’re wrong about that, kid,” Ed said. “It used to happen to Tony all the time. The only difference between you and him on that front were the triggers.”

Huh. It wasn’t a secret to Peter that Tony had PTSD-- the man had awkwardly and very vaguely mentioned it once not long after the incident with Toomes, when Peter was still having nightmares about the plane crash, waking up in cold sweats. But it had been a brief conversation, stilted due to how little they really knew one another at the time. 

Of course, Tony had later talked Peter down from the beginning of a few panic attacks, distracting him just like Ed was doing now. But they’d never talked about Tony’s own PTSD again. Peter certainly hadn’t known the specific symptoms-- that the man had suffered his own panic attacks.

“So is that why he made you? To keep me from panicking in life-threatening situations?”

“He created me to help you in case the event he couldn’t anymore,” Ed says simply. “He loved you very much, Peter.”

Before Peter can respond to that, his comm suddenly breaks out into static for a few moments before a new voice emerges.

“Cap to Spider-Man. I repeat, Cap to Spider-Man. Do you copy?”

“I’m here!” Peter cries out, only to add with a grin and a cheeky tone, “What took you guys so long?”

“Thank god,” Sam says in reply, not even trying to mask his relief. “Buck and I are working on digging you out, shouldn’t be too much longer now. How you holding up, kid?”

“I’m okay,” Peter automatically replies.

“You’re not just saying that, are you bud?” Bucky chimes in then, with no small amount of skepticism.

“Seriously guys, I’m fine,” Peter retorts with a small laugh, only to be surprised that it’s the truth. “Bit of a tight fit, what with a bunch of concrete on top of me, but I can breathe okay and I don’t think anything’s bleeding or broken.”

“Good, let’s try to keep it that way,” Sam says. “Okay, time to concentrate-- we gotta take be careful or the whole thing could still crash down on you. But as soon as you see or hear us, just call out, okay?”

“Will do, Cap.”

“See you soon, kid,” Sam says, Bucky echoing him, before it’s silent again.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Ed pipes up, Peter thinking Tony for a second before he remembers. 

“Yeah, it really is,” he agrees with a grin. He can’t wait to get out of here. 

“You really doing okay, Pete?”

Peter takes a moment to take stock. He can’t take a full breath, and the pressure on his body and particularly his legs and hips is painful. But otherwise, he really is doing okay, and the panic attack has long since passed.

“I am,” Peter says truthfully. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Just doing what I was made to do, kiddo. No need to thank me.”

Peter gives a rueful smile, wondering idly if the mask logs his facial expressions-- if Ed can tell.

Just then he hears some movement roughly ten feet above him and slightly to the left-- not close enough that it’s worth calling out yet, but he knows it won’t be long now.

Ed must have heard it too, as he says then, “Well if you’re all squared away, I think it’s time I hit the road, kid.”

Peter wants so badly to ask Ed to stay, but he’s pretty sure he already knows what the answer will be. And he knows Ed would be right-- it wouldn’t be healthy for Peter to have full-time access to him. If he did, he’d just look for support in the AI that he really needs to find in real people-- people he loves that are still here.

The knowledge doesn’t make it suck any less, though-- doesn’t lessen the constant ache of longing for Tony in his heart.

“Hey, Ed, can I ask you something before you go?”

“Sure thing, kid.”

“Before, you said that Tony loved me very much. How do you know? I mean, it’s not like he ever said that to me or anything, so I guess I’m just…” Peter trails off.

There’s a long pause, and Peter figures the AI is rapidly going through its archives, searching for even one instance it can point to as some sort of proof. But then, just like Tony used to, Ed surprises him.

“You remember what my codename is, Pete?”

“Yeah, it’s E.D.M.U.N.D.”

“That’s right. And it stands for Even Dead, My Underoos Needs Dad.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “But, I never called him ‘dad’...” _Even if it sometimes felt like he was my dad,_ he thinks but doesn’t say.

“It doesn’t matter what you called him, kid-- proof’s in the pudding. Tony thought of you as a son, and I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say he loved you as much as any actual kid of his own too.”

Peter can’t help it-- the tears well up and overflow before he has a chance to stop them. Sniffling, he lifts his mask and wipes at his face with his free hand, taking a few moments to gather himself before pulling it back down.

“You know, Ed, that name could have used some workshopping,” he says, voice wet.

“Oh, really? Don’t leave me in suspense.”

“Well, grammatically speaking, it sounds like I’m the dead one, not--”

“Alright, young buck, that’s enough out of you,” Ed interrupts, but his tone is light and joking. “Number one rule of talking to me, Pete: no mention of dead spider-babies. Got it?”

Peter chuckles. “Got it.”

Just then the pitch black surrounding Peter is pierced by a ray of bright sunshine.

“Kid?” Sam calls out.

“I’m over here,” Peter yells back.

“Alright Pete,” Ed says. “I’m out. It’s been great but let’s not do this again soon-- I’d rather prefer you safe and not freaking out, even if only a little bit.”

Peter smiles to himself. “Yeah, me too. Thanks again, Ed.”

“Happy trails, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are most appreciated. Or come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://blondsak.tumblr.com)!


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